


Dialogue is Key

by saturnisaconcept



Series: Prom Queer Paradox [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bi-Curiosity, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My First Fanfic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18722050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnisaconcept/pseuds/saturnisaconcept
Summary: Butters thinks that everything happens for a reason,Stan prefers that they didn't.Maybe high school was meant for the unlikely to happen. Maybe college will be way worse.





	1. Do Boys Think I’m Pretty?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butters witnesses a fight,  
> Stan loses a friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my very first fic I've written in a long time. I'm talkin years. I hope you guys enjoy. It's not well proofread but I hope you enjoy.

There were many things Butters had forced himself to believe not to be a big deal. Like the boys who went into the single stall bathrooms in together. Or the goths kids that recruited football players to smoke with them, who would suddenly end up behind the bleachers. He never wanted to ask questions about why Bebe would stop a few cheerleaders before practice and sneak them into the janitors closet because really, it wasn’t Butters business. That’s a character trait his friend let him know in middle school was highly admirable of him, and he was more than willing to continue to finesse his ability. Even after graduation and into the vast real-world awaiting the end of his high school career. Minding his business was the only thing he was good at. It made living in his household easy.   
However, it comes to find him today that he might not be the master at his own skill. Something had appeared to be a very big deal, and he was mentally too invested to not know. Even when it didn’t make sense to become his business, it was a gnawing curiosity that was staring him dead in the face and if he walked away now, he knew he couldn’t live with himself.  
As it appeared, the subject of interest was caught arguing in the hallway for the second time this week. Impressively enough, they have both managed to upkeep the same argument these past couple of weeks. When he would leave the cafeteria to head out for lunch, he would find the pair going back and forth with one another in this hallway. Butters believed that he might of purposely started taking this route out the backend of the school doors just so he could spot the two.  
He had left it alone the first two times he spotted them there, it wasn’t his concern and it wasn't his place to bud his nose in and comment. The third time he heard a mutual friend’s name get drawn into Stan's shouts, which made his feet stop and his mind wander. He left because of his strong sense of modesty overcame his curiosity but boy, was he curious. He was spotted the fourth, and they stopped immediately. Butters didn't know what to do with himself so he ran. However, he had classes with them later in the day and things were too awkward to just leave at that. So he apologized during their mutual period and they seemed perfunctory, which Butters took as forgiving. Apparently, even which knowledge that Butters might appear, it didn’t prevent the current argument from happening today.   
Butters took note that Kyle was the louder today. His voice sounded strained and he seemed more pointed and animated out of the pair. Butters actually took some satisfaction that he wasn't as composed as he usually was and he figured today's blowout must have been huge. Which, if Butters was more invested (and he swears he isn’t) he’s glad he seems bent out of shape, Stan usually seemed to be the first to crumble under his disdaining gaze and blubber emotionally. When he heard Kyle cursing, he predicted Stan was already on track for that but with Stan's back was towards he could only make more assumptions based off of Kyle’s heated appearance. He noticed today that Kyle’s gesturing made Stan seem so small which, in a normal setting comparison, Butters would hardly notice Kyle besides Stan unless he was in front.  
Butters tried to tune in more to the conversation at hand. He was able to make out some of what was being said in the distance, but the context was unclear as to what was being said through conversation. Whenever it seemed that Stan was speaking, Kyle would roll his eyes upwards, or shake his head off to the side and refused to make eye contact. It sort of reminded Butters of his dad. When he’d come home from school late or spend too much time in his room like she was chastising him but didn’t have enough energy to care about it much. Not anymore anyway.   
Fazed out in thought he neglected to see Kyle looking up in his direction and as he ducked behind the locker bend he already assumed it was too late and he looked foolish doing so. He immediately felt bad for spying but before he could sneak away Kyle was passing by him fast pace and didn’t look back. He felt a quick surge of panicked and began rehearsing his apologizes when Stan appeared around the corner, tears making small paths down his cheeks.  
“Dude, hey, what’s up man? What are you doing here?” his words were rushed and he was rubbing his cheeks pink roughly wiping the tears away. Butters immediately felt ten times worse for even being alive at this very moment. It wasn’t even envisioned he might come across Stan like this.  
“Are you okay bud?” was all he could think of, all he had to ask really before Stan started to bawl into these big gross sobbing tears.   
Butters felt his heart break into tiny little pieces watching him come undone and grew wounded up into sympathy. “Aw, come here little fella don’t cry like that”. Like a small wounded baby bird he gathered Stan up into a hug, “don’t be like that, It’ll be alright.”   
He patted Stan on the back with one hand and try to pull him close to his chest with another. Gathering Stan into one big hold was awkward because he was chest height to the boy trying to cry into his shoulder. He settled on hugging him close by his midsection and rubbing small circles into his upper back.   
It felt like forever before Stan spoke and he spooked Butters when he did. “I don’t think it’s ever going to be alright again.” he was loud and gasping on his words. “I don’t even know what alright is going to be-” he choked out the rest.  
Securing his grip unto Butters he tucked his face into his shoulder and continued to grossly sob. Butters wondered if he was getting snot on his sweatshirt and if he even had another one. But has never seen Stan get this bad, so he assumes this is the type of crisis you sort of get over these kinds of things and sticks it out for a friend.   
He continued to pat his back some and thought up more words to push out and hopefully mean something. Luckily for him, Stan started back up again picking up where he left off,  
“I don’t know if it’s alright to be around him again, I don’t even know what alright even means! I don’t think I can ever be alright with all of this bullshit ever again!”   
He twisted his hands into Butters shirt when he couldn’t possibly pull him any closer, and Butters didn’t know if he should be scared or even more sympathetic. He’s really freaked out Stan is like this, but if he’s honest, he’s kind of feeling resentful towards Kyle for making him even be this way. Poor Stan is all worked up and he doesn’t know what to do, and the person that got him like this just walked away, leaving Butters with all the nurturing and Stan with all the questions he can’t answer.   
“What if this it? What if this is the last bit of alright we had when we had it together and now it’s lost and it’s gone” and he continued.   
Butters noticed the panic and fear in his uncertainty and began making soft shushing noises. Going from this gasping choking sounds, to rapidly shaking his head and denying everything Butters couldn’t comprehend. He didn’t know if he was even allowed to understand, but he was he now, and he was here for Stan.   
He was content existing as a stress doll, hoping to help Stan ride through this feeling and when he finally calmed down they stood there. Awkwardly holding unto one another waiting until someone let go.   
He felt Stan swallow hard before pulling away and going to wipe his face again with his sleeves.   
“You’re making your face all red” Butters commented. His cheeks seemed so worn already by the end of his sleeve, and his nose seemed in high protest of their treatment. Stan went to rub them again and Butters gave out a disapproving click of his tongue. Something his mother did which was a habit when she wanted to help him stop crying as well.   
When he received a questionable look that probably was a suggestion for him to back off he snapped back to reality. “Come on big guy, let’s get you to the bathroom."  
Then he went to grab his Stan's again but meet with resistance. “I’m good, I don’t need your help”.  
Butters blinked twice and tried to comprehend what had just happened in the matter of three seconds that shifted the mood. As he tried to compose himself, he attempted to think of another way to approach Stan.   
They made eye contact again and Butters simply nodded and backed away. With that Stan left him in the hallway and exited out of the school doors.   
It was only the fourth period, Butters wondered where he was going with his day

The rest of his day was pretty normal. He spent the rest of his lunch with Tweak, and Craig brought both of them fries and veggie wraps for lunch. His study hall period he went to the library to make up for the report he missed out on working on for lunch. He was hoping to maybe do some personal research during this time, but something productive than nothing at all he supposed. Baking recipes would have to wait.   
He spotted Kyle again in IP Chemistry and was hoping he’d get a chance to apologize even though he probably didn’t deserve one. Maybe he was honestly hoping to not be spotted at all. Kyle did seem insanely pissed, but he also wasn’t terribly close to Butters. So maybe it wouldn’t even be worth the time staying mad over, or maybe Butters just wasn’t actually spotted by Kyle as he feared. All of IP Chem Butters spent bouncing around in circles within his mind. When they got up to leave for the day, Kyle walked past him and Butters assumed that was that and was glad the day came to an end. He skipped the bus today, not being able to deal with the intensely packed, rowdy and sweaty school kids and began to walk home, diverged deeply in thought.   
The image of Stan came back into his mind, and suddenly he was reliving the situation all over again. He could feel it, digging deep into his shirt like he was desperate for anything to hold on to. Butters felt like a lifeline, which gave him this odd sense of obligation but he felt it at that moment like he needed to be there. Like something more needed to be done.   
He always felt like that though, like if life left him with something that was greater than his usual mundane routine he figured maybe he’d find something better and more useful outside of himself. Maybe something even better than himself. So he can craft up and work the nerve to be something more than what he currently was, which was questionable even to him on who that might be.  
His thoughts were cut short when he heard someone call his name. He blinked himself out of his thoughts and looked up from where he was concentrating.   
“Where’d you go my little Leo?”  
“Far off and beyond” he let out a small smile packed with mirth and stretched towards the sky, mentally reset himself for a change in mindset. Talking to Kenny required more focus and attention, which was honestly much needed at this moment. Something outside of his head and Kenny was always the best person to do that for you. Getting him outside of his head and living world full on into the moment. Butters often felt like Kenny was the only one in the world that knew exactly where he needed to be and he was the only man who can get you there.   
“How far is ‘far off’ and can you take me with you?” his poking fun always made it easy for Butters to fall back into normalcy and tease back.  
“Hmm, we don’t let junkies onboard the saved ship of Jesus Christ” he couldn’t be taken seriously, nothing he ever said around Kenny could be so he was glad when he heard the other laugh back with heart and earnest.   
He faked pain and clutched his chest “Oh ouch, forgive me father and my sins” he mimicked the catholic signing for crossing his chest and joined his hands together at the end to bow towards, which made Butters laugh towards his ignorance.   
“Oh hush you, I’m just as much of a saint as you are a virgin”   
“Oh ho, let me just tease out your ‘holy values’ and we can determine for sure if that statement is true” it was easy to be friendly with Kenny, just as it was with Butters. Their dynamic worked together because everything was alright together.   
“I think someone’s walking the wrong way home” he felt bold, he was noisy once today at least with Kenny it was taken in earnest rather than mischievous and uninvited.  
“I got somewhere else to be today my little tortellini” he shoved his pockets into his hoodie and focused on that concrete ahead. He’s been going all around town lately, ended up in odd aspects and finding cool places to take photos and get his shoes dirty. It started out as a photography project in tenth grade but ended becoming a hobby. Though he usually goes with Kyle and Stan obviously that won’t be going as planned.  
“Are you not inviting the boys today?” Butters inquires anyways, he has to keep up with appearances.   
Kenny looked like his was mulling it over but spat out his thought with certainty, “Nah, Stan has practice so I’m just going with Kyle today.”   
He thought back unto that fight earlier, maybe Kenny didn’t know he was lying but he doubted that was the truth. Stan didn’t come back for his later periods he doubted Stan was going to make it to practice, or maybe football is a different concept than regular high school classes. He wouldn’t know, and he definitely wouldn’t ask. It wasn’t his business.   
‘I don’t know if it’s alright to be around him again’  
He couldn’t help thinking about it though. Thinking about poor Stan, thinking almost how many someones like Kenny needed to know, or needed to be around him right now. Another thing he definitely wasn’t going to mention right now.   
“There he goes again, off into the wonderful scape that all bitches run off to”  
“Chasing newspaper men on bicycles?”  
“Who the fuck delivers newspapers on bicycles anymore?” He gave Butters this obvious look that he thought he was stupid until, “Wait, who the fuck delivers newspapers anymore period?” That's what made it so easy to be around him. They both burst into laughter and went about the conversation with ease that Butters was more than grateful for never having to undergo the same awkwardness Stan and Kyle did earlier today.  
Maybe that was selfish, but maybe it was easier to compare than having to face a reality that they might eventually get there someday. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that Butters surpasses the standards mentally of 'adolescence youth', but is too wholesome to become as nihilistic as Stan


	2. Ah, That’s On Me It Seems. Maybe I should try harder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrietta actually has Stan figured out in two simple steps, weed and condescending remarks.  
> Stan is pretty simple, he just wants to find himself in other people that's all

He came home and locked his door. That was it, that was all it. He feels like there might not ever be another chance to regain himself, but if he was perfectly honest he doesn’t think he wants a chance to regain himself. So which one was, even more, shittier than even having the ability to regain himself, or the fact he wouldn’t even want it if the opportunity ever presented itself to him.  
He could blame Kyle though, right? It was his fucking fault anyways, everything around him crumpled into small shitty little pieces, that felt too sharp to even touch. Too broken to build back together so doesn’t that mean Kyle ruined it all? He wishes he fucking hadn’t asked, he fucking hates Kyle more for even telling him.  
He wiped his face, which stung from the rough use of his thick varsity sleeve and cursed out loud. He thought of when Butters grabbed him. Stupid fucking Butters, not minding his own goddamn business as he fucking should. What a fucking asshole, he thought but his sobs from earlier rejuvenated the energy they left and he was on the floor crying.  
“Fucking Butters man, what the fuck” he was probably laughing at him. He probably ran to Craig or Token or whoever the fuck fucking Butters hangs out with and are making fun of him. Some soft bitch crying over his best friend… his best friend. What did that look like to Butters? What did he assume was going on? He wasn’t actually mean he seemed concerned enough.  
Stan laid down on the floor and decided to stay put for a while. He has practice sometime later this week but he didn’t think he couldn’t handle to rest of the school week. It was only fucking Tuesday, how the fuck would he drag this out. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to do anything but lay there on the fucking cry about lying ass Kyle and think about how he ruined everything. Everything they had, everything that was special, everything that made Kyle his super best friend, his special one, his bro4lyfe, every tagline they could come up with, every story they shared, every memory made.  
He wanted to throw out his stupid fucking PlayStation. He wanted to take the stupid macaroni art from their elementary school down, he wanted to drink. But his dad is home, and his mom is knocking at his door so he supposes he can go sneak a drink another time.  
He was going to take a nap here instead. On the floor, by the picture of him and Kyle on their eighth-grade field trip to Washington DC.  
Stan thinks he cries himself to sleep because when he wakes up it’s dark outside and he doesn’t know what time it is. He has no energy to move towards his phone, though he’s pretty sure it’s what woke him up because its vibration is killing his skull. He peers up to check his phone and sure enough, it’s Kyle. But he doesn’t want to talk to Kyle, he doesn’t physically have the energy to do that right now so he lays still until his phone ceases to carry out life.  
Eventually, Stan makes a move to sit up and his back and stiff, his head is swimming and his eyes feel heavy and worn. He reaches over to check his phone in depth and notices four missed calls from Kyle, two from Wendy, a text from his weed dealer and some facebook notifications. He doesn’t check either of those but opens up a new text message and begins typing.  
He types up a few opening lines, but settles on asking ‘r u awk??’ and hitting send. It was nearing one in the morning and he wasn’t exactly sure why Kyle was up but he hopes that means his other friend was up as well.  
‘Can you actually spell out your words or should I be purchasing you a dictionary?’  
Right now, in this exact moment, she was the only friend he got so he was going to have to give. He responded back immediately, ‘do you wanna get high or not?’  
He put down his phone and waited. He listened in silence to the house around him, he thinks he hears the tv downstairs in the living room, so he’ll probably have to sneak out back. Guess he can’t offer booze then.  
His phone buzzes again, but the message is from Kyle. He closes his eyes quickly and swipes randomly on his screen praying that got rid of the preview notification. It did, then immediately buzzes again revealing a text from Henrietta, ‘I guess I can allow a dysfunctional jocks with an eighth into my house at this hour’  
Fuckin bitch, whatever, ‘cool ill be over soon’. It vibrates instantly and he wants to throw out his phone, ‘I’ll*’

“When will you get over this diluted concept that friendships are everlasting and everything will be peaches and astroglide if you just believe” he scoffed as Henrietta barely made it through her hit laughing (and choking) at her own lame joke.  
“Jesus, maybe when you don’t die smoking” the blunt left her hand and she continued to chuckle.  
“What is it that you were hoping for this time around? What possible outcomes have yet to come across upon the previous approaches that you think will miraculously change” she motions her arms in this grand gesture above her head and towards the universe, as a sorceress would trying to cast something ominous into the world.  
Stan thinks she’s funniest when she’s dramatic like this because she’s usually dramatic always but now she’s purposely doing it to make some point to him and he feels like she cares. Which he really needs someone to care so he’s super glad she does. Does enough to let him in her house, lecture him, and let him smoke her up. So she can be as fucking dramatic as she wants.  
“Well I mean, it was different this time.” He contemplated letting her know the full truth. About him being so butt-lovingly clingy to Butters and actually crying out like a little bitch. He settles for the half-truth, “Butters was there again, and I ended up hugging him or whatever.”  
“The happy go lucky Scotch kid?” she held out her tongue in distasted and plucked the joint out of Stan’s hands, dragging her hit.  
“Oh fucking Christ,” she squinted and coughed through her next hit. Trying to smoke her way into tolerance over the situation in general.  
“You plan on sharing that?”  
“You plan on leaving?” another, then she passed it back.  
He rolled his eyes finally taking his hit as well. He held onto it for a while, thinking about what exactly Butters might’ve been doing there in the first place. What would he have done if he wasn’t there?  
He wasn't allowed to give it much thought because his eyes began to burn and he started coughing. “Fucking douchebag,” she said and laughed, grabbing it back from him and claiming it for the rest for the night.  
Stan wasn’t that strong of a pothead anyways, but he knows he could drink Henrietta under the table. He knew this to be the easiest way to appeal to Henrietta and he’s got no one else so…  
“He hugged me” he repeated because that was kind of relevant to him. Even though Butters is a sweet kid to everyone and probably hug homeless people off the street. “It was kinda sweet of him I guess. because I really needed a hug”  
Henrietta started to gag again and held her arms in this melodramatic way suggesting a hug. He wishes she wasn’t so condescending, because he would definitely accept another hug right now. Though he kind of wishes Butters was still holding him.  
Accepting Stan’s rejection she lowered her arms in false pained and continued, “he probably felt sorry for your whiny ass, have you seen yourself cry?”  
He rolled his eyes and flipped her off, but of course, she’d guess right that he was crying, fuck telling her that though. More so, fuck her because she probably wasn’t lying. She’s seen him enough times as an emotionally vulnerable mess that she’s made the better decision to just take him in at an ungodly hour rather than letting him sought her out later at school.  
Henrietta was his secret weapon though. She’s the all-out defense and if he truly needed shit for this, she wouldn’t even let him have it. Oddly enough, Stan believes that Henrietta gets him best. She gets that he’s a sensitive marimoo ball that caves in under the heat and pressure of just existing. Where he admires her for not being so pussy as to let life take her the same way it’s taking him.  
He’s watched grow up and actively face life as it expels all it has to offer and still not nearly be enough for her to be merely satisfied with. He’s always so awestruck at how shitty and miserable she is and lives to just be more than okay with getting it that way. Sorry bitches like Stan caved under it, and it was life’s job to ruin itself for him, but not her. She’ll watch life come up to her with a switchblade and stabbed her repeatedly in her face before getting up and flipping it back off. Like she’s too invincible to even touch. Stan didn’t know when he began to idolize her so much, but she was the baddest bitch he knew and her being a hardcore Goth head had everything to do with it. So he liked the fact she gave him no shit but refused to look down and pity him like all the other motherfuckers that did, like Kyle.  
So, he talks for a while as she lets him get everything off his chest. He goes on a tangent on how everything was Kyle’s fault and that this situation really didn’t need to be happening, the fights in the hallways, the crying outburst. He explains (yet again to knowing ears) how everything was normal and Kyle managed to just ruin that for him. He wishes it was normal again. After a few more hits and a now satisfying high Henrietta is on board with. She begins to release passive-aggressive jokes about Kyle, that Stan feels kinda normal for.  
He’ll be alright for now even if things aren’t actually normal and fucked to shit, what can he do about it? They talk a bit more before Henrietta considers the time.  
“Do you wanna just chill here today? I doubt I’m going to bed now, it’s-” she leans over and checks her clocktower “a quarter to five, I’ll lock my door and my mother won’t bother us.”  
It’s already early morning, his mom might be getting up soon and starting breakfast. He doesn’t really want to miss out breakfast with his mother, he really needs that today.  
“Nah I gotta head out actually, but if you’ll be here I’ll come back?” he gets up to stretch out before heading back home.  
“Whatever, you’re going to have to climb back up if you want to come in later” she tosses back loosely but gets up to offer Stan a hug before heading out.  
Stan thanks her, and heads out through the back door. He begins jogging back to his place and can’t recall if he happened to leave his own window open or not. He might just have to use his keys and sneak upstairs, definitely take a shower. He’ll get back to Henrietta once he cleans up, saves face for his mom and asks for advice over breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to believe they have a lovely connection that only these two can dysfunctionally handle :)


	3. Mid Week Crisis Leave For Split ends and Bad Manicures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan's actually somewhat honest,  
> and his mom may surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh, posted the wrong chapter and instead of being a big boy I ranaway from the fic.  
> I'm back though... and I fixed it. And updated it. Hooray!

His mom is already outside by the time he makes his way back home from Henrietta's. Which, is more than the amount of morning disaster he’s prepared for. He smells like weed and looks like shit.  
So when they make eye contact he can already feel like pity and disappointment in her features before getting close enough to actually flesh them out. So much for wanting breakfast, he wants to turn back around and slowly walk himself off the edge of the Earth.  
He must’ve spaced out stand there ten feet away from his mother because he doesn’t see her leave the lawn picnic table to walk towards him, and only feels her standing in front of him without actually focusing his sight on her. He wants to feel dread or even shame, but those things don’t come to him as he blankly stares straight at the folding of her night robe over her chest. Instead, he’s more worried about her getting sick out her with just that on. He doesn’t even believe she’s wearing a shirt underneath which disturbs him that she sleeps naked, but stresses him out more than she was waiting for him outside naked or rather with just the shitty robe on.  
“Stanley, are you listening?”  
Oh, she was talking. “No, I actually wasn’t. Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” dodging choice subject he was an expert out. That’s why Kyle always did his math homework.  
“Stanley”  
“Pneumonia is a thing mom” he watches her grow in frustration.  
“Stanley” she had her eyes shut tight, may be willing the frustration away.  
“What the hell, you can get really sick” Stan was not going to make it easy.  
She let out an exasperated sigh. Stan knew he was being difficult, but seriously, she could get sick, what the hell. Waiting out here in the cold for her shithead son. What is she thinking? He definitely wasn’t worth it.  
“Why don’t we go inside then?” she looked exhausted, and he felt even worse when he actually caught her shiver. But he didn’t want her to find him like this and they just spent a couple of precious seconds that she could’ve spent warm inside if she wasn’t waiting for him to come back like this.  
He wanted an excuse to just stay out here and curl up in the snow. To maybe die and be covered in the white crisp sheet of shame that he should be feeling. He just wanted to show through.  
“Stan I don’t have time for this, come inside please”  
“I want to try again” he was still blankly staring at her chest, and he was surprised she was creeped out.  
“What?”  
“Just go inside, and like. Give me fifteen minutes?” that was enough to shower and hopefully scrub off the shit of yesterday.  
“Stanley-”  
“You weren’t supposed to be outside, I just need fifteen minutes to feel a little better. I promise” he finally looked up at her and saw even more so the reflection of defeat he felt all morning unto her face. He probably managed that in seconds. “Just fifteen minutes mom, and I’ll tell you everything, please?”  
God, he doesn’t even feel like he’s here. He feels like he’s floating right above and out of his skin, and it’s making this interacting distant but so easy to shitstorm his way through.  
She rolls her shoulders into a small stretch as she yawns, nods in some moderate disbelief over the whole situation and simply walks inside leaving the door open.  
When Stan follows a few heartbeats after she’s inside he calls to her from the doorway about letting pneumonia into her life so easily and charges for upstairs.  
He makes it sort of a time trial race, grabbing his clothes, stripping his chagrin ridden ones off in his room, checking his phone briefly hoping for a message from Hen. Which after scrolling down all the new notifications from Kyle (again) and his mom he was actually elated to see one reading ‘Try not to perish on the journey back’. He wants to check the messages from Kyle, he really, really does. But he’s pretty sure he’s only craving Kyle’s thoughts because he’s kinda high and vulnerable right now, and weed makes him starved for validation.  
Which, he remembers is why he wants to shower and be presentable for his mom right now. So he thanks his higher self and places his phone down, grab his clothes and walk across the hall naked jumping into the shower and resuming the race against himself.  
He allows himself a few seconds to fully flesh out a plan of deliverance to his mother in regards to the situation at hand. So far, he knows he has to address why he left and why he came back smelling like weed. Maybe he can overcrowd her with information so he doesn’t have to expose where he went to smoke weed. However, he’s probably going to have to explain why he left if that’s the case, which means he’s going to have to actually confront the situation with Kyle because his mom will definitely make him.  
Maybe that’s a good thing, Kyle and him have just been arguing for days on end with no real solution and it’s just the same shit with him being hysterical and begging Kyle to understand while Kyle gives him his emotionless robot response like Stan’s just been a decoy for friendship and the entire thing meant nothing. That oddly made Stan feel slightly more filthy than before, so he scrubs harder to escape the mental image of feeling used, though he kind of has been.  
He finishes up the shower, gets dressed in the bathroom, brushes his teeth and makes a beeline back for his room to formulate final touches on his plan while also responded back to Henrietta and painfully ignoring Kyle.  
Once he’s comfortable with a solid and semi rehearsed speech, he takes a deep breath a few times and goes to knock on his mom’s door. He really wants to tell his mom everything, but that’s admitting too much more than he can handle. Plus, not even Henrietta knows everything because everything is too embarrassing and what will he do with himself if not even his mother could understand it all? Look at him like the disgrace she knew he was growing up to be and finally here he is to confirm it all. Will she still love him? Will she throw him out and send him to his dad’s? God, will she fucking tell dad?  
The anxiety causes him to knock on her door a little more persistently and wonders why the fuck she went to back to bed. Did she give up on his as soon as she saw him walk up the driveway?  
Knocking a third time a bit more loudly, he finally hears her calling from downstairs and suddenly he smells what he believes are pancakes and connecting the dots. He races downstairs to confirm his theory and sure enough, his overly sweet and dedicated mom was making them breakfast. Not signing over custody papers to send his ass to Massachusetts or wherever the fuck his dad was now.  
He let out a sigh of relief and immediately felt bad for thinking his mom to be some crock of a parent. Maybe his mom was able to read his mind, because she rolled her eyes, told him to relax and sit down.  
He sits in silence as she finishes up breakfast and sets up the dining room table, and Stan thinks he should help her but by the time he’s out of his thoughts and ready to act breakfast is in front of him and the moment of truth has dawn down upon him.  
“I’ll let you talk first,” she says and begins to eat the meal she prepared for them.  
So, Stan goes, “Kyle and I have been arguing and shit lately and he’s being a real dickhead about it”. He vaguely does. He might just have to snitch on him and Henrietta.  
His mom gives him a more expectant look, so he has to continue. “I uh, don’t know why he’s so upset. If anything I have more of a right to be angry and he’s just mad at me for being angry.” he picks up his fork and starts to stuff his mouth. He’s either going to get through this or stuff his whole damn face up so he doesn’t have to.  
“You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you?” she not even looking at him at this point, which kinda pisses him off because he’s fucking trying but he also gets that he’s not trying with much.  
“Mom, I’m trying-”  
“Stanley, I can’t help you if you aren’t. Just know that.”  
So he’s back to square one, and that’s an embarrassing square because he hasn’t confessed a lot to his mother for him to fully explain the complexity of the situation.  
“So I came out to Kyle as bi” and then the world stops. Because he stops, his throat catches and he wants to cry but he’s waiting to see his mom’s reaction to see if it’ll be the same one Kyle’s is.  
She lets out a small hum and gives him back her eye focus. Beyond that, it’s almost like this woman couldn’t give less of a shit.  
“Mom?”  
“Oh,” she pauses a bit and swallows her pancakes before asking, “so is that what Kyle was shitty about?”  
He has to rethink the rest of his planning process. The answer is yes, kind of. Though he was anticipating at least a lot more questions, maybe some resistances, some assumptions even. This was kind of a big moment here, at least for Stan.  
“Mom, that’s it? Mom I’m bi, bisexual”  
There’s another pause in the room and then his mother pulls back in an ‘a-ha!’ moment, finally understanding what Stan was looking for. She shakes her head curtly a few times before saying “yeah, no. Stan sweetie I love you and support you. I’m waiting for you to get to the part where you explain why you came back to the house smelling like weed and looking like a zombie” she patted her face a few times and Stan notices she’s actually done with her food. He ate two bites out of his pancakes.  
“Um…” that was the build-up, the coming out part.  
They exchange expectant eye contact and then it’s pretty much easier for him he believes. He tells her that he was at a friends house talking to them about all of this. He gives her more details about what was going on and how he skipped the rest of classes and practice yesterday because of the argument and if he was honest, he planned on skipping the rest of the week.  
“Well, you can’t do that. So we need a better plan.” She gets up to gather her plate and tells him to finish his food.  
“Mom-” he takes a few bites to comply, even though it's soggy and cold by now. “I can’t do it today”. He’s least going to beg his way out of going today. “If I’m honest, I’m not going to go even if you drop me off, I can’t see Kyle first period. Mom, please I really can’t.” He’s working himself into a fit again and he wants to run off to Henrietta's house and hide underneath her duvet.  
She hums over his panicking tone and sits in the chair beside him. There’s a lot of small things only his mother has ever been able to figure out about him that not even Stan himself could piece together. So when the tears well up in his eyes and she’s already wiping them away and petting his hair back from his forehead, he wants to cry anyways because only his mother is this wonderful at pieces his nerves together and soothing him back to the surface of his skin in which he paranoia rose himself from. He turns to continue to eat as she pets his hair back and lovingly hums him back to sanity.  
When he finishes, she starts up, “I don’t think avoiding Kyle forever is going to help you. I think reminding him why you guys are friends might work better.” With that, she gathered his plate and began doing the dishes.  
Stan picked up the counters and scrubbed down the dining room table before thanking his mom, kissing her cheek and heading up to his room. His mom was truly the best. He flopped down on his bed and checked the time. It was six- thirty-four when he heard the shower in the bathroom turn on, and seven- thirteen when the front door shut.  
He gathered some clothes, packed a spare bag and sent his mom a text that he was, in fact, going to skip today but promised to at least not smoke. She sent him back a smiling emoji and told him to be home by dinner. She at least wanted him to see him and do something fun tonight to hopefully lift his mood.  
He couldn’t help but remind himself that he was so happy for the divorce and that his mom was so much better of a parent without his dad around. Like she unlocked her full potential and it makes coping with his depression and the separation a lot better now that he isn’t on the shit team.  
He shots Henrietta a text and heads out the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healthy parenting is good parenting :)  
> Sometimes, mom's just gotta be vocal with her son.
> 
> Also, I think I'm adjusting narrative perspective to match Stan's juvenile tone and Butters mature sense of reality. So I'm gonna play with that until he ceases to work.


	4. We Wear Black...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrietta obviously gives some ounce of a fuck, but know that the work would never be worth the effort if it wasn't for Stan being so disgustingly himself about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hi. I'm here. I don't have a BETA? Pretty sure it's noticeable. My bad.

There were a lot of things wrong with the atmosphere. The winter wind was vicious and made awfully short and annoying scratching sounds at her window. Which caused her to notice the sealing small breeze coming through pushing her curtains aside and letting in small streaks of sunlight. She’s tried boarding her windows up entirely but her mother told her it was a safety hazard, as if she even cared about that fact.  
She could hear that women from down the hall getting her bitch offspring ready for school. There isn’t a day where she doesn’t completely loathe this woman and her uncanny nature to be a complete overhanging waste of space. She could hear the artificial laughter and overly forced tones of joy stretch deep in between the gaps of her door frame. The hollow cheer and fake apperision slowly rising over her bed and sinking into her bones, rotting her core over with fake sleek style of the white picket fence life she so refused to be apart of.  
The dreary sense of her own mortality made efforts to raise her spirit and soul back into rebellion, but the weed made her tired and less irritable than usual. Also revealing that she was not, in fact, making efforts to join the same fate of her bitch spawning in attending classes today, exposed her for being a little less than sober while doing so.  
Some battles were not always to be fought, just as the window issue was a calming resolute which added in her favor for certain high school boys to sneak their ways in during odd hours of the day or night. The sounds of happiness began to fade and notably, the bathroom shower sounded to not be on meaning the floor was vacant. With more ease and less resistance, she began to let herself relax. She got up from the floor and made her way to her bed, picking up a small bag from her dresser and tucking it under her pillow to help her nerves truly relax and her anger to eventually subside. There was no need to really be so vengeful when no one was here for her to go up against, though to stay protected and aware at all times…  
She laid out, tucked her blanket and stared into the darkness that was within her comfort field. She could be less angry, but who did need she really need to make accommodations for? Those lifeless drones of the mundane suburban lifestyle? Those pretentious pretending pompous poser pricks who want to believe they’re perfective the very image of being alive? No, fuck them and fuck that. She could as angry as she needs to be, for the years of abuse, the years of neglect, the years of being brought down and lessened as being an intellectual beyond their stupid silly game of house and wife. She would never be broken in this system of woas. That’s what fucks up kids like Stanley.  
Pretty little boys with the perfect face and the perfect smile. Making all these efforts and strives to be anything else anyone wants him to be just to make mommy and daddy so proud. Fucked up teens wanted validation by their best friend’s cockhead. It’s fucking pathetic. She will never be as worthless as to sink down to the American Dream and submit to the fear and panic that would prevent her from at least fucking who she wanted to fuck.  
She actually thinks that she feels sorrow for him when his text comes through and the short string of something gross hits her and makes her body shiver. Now he’s on his way back and of course he is because he’s never gone back on hanging out with her. Despite everything else he wants to be, he never seems to want to leave her the fuck alone. Not that she’d ever invite him to do so.  
She grabs onto the bag under her pillow and casts something softly unto the small thing. Then she sets it back aside, unlocks the window and burrows herself under the sheets before responding to his message. She wants him to be clear that she would not be dealing with his bullshit and that if she at least wants some type of direction, he’ll let her give him advice.  
It was easy to slip away with time, her door was locked and she usually put her headphones in to avoid actually hearing that wenches voice drag and drilling down against her nerves like a corkscrew begging her to make it to her school. Though she’s probably given up at some point in time, Henrietta never cared enough to know. Her door would remain locked anyways until the coast was completely cleared.  
It took a few song changes and a lot of patience while reading Stan’s block of text and bantering with his defeatist attitude that then confirmed he would comply with her attempts. Something that wasn’t just weed and listening to him bitch. She felt slightly grateful a bit concerning though if she was honest, content. His pure emotional disdain was the complete opposite of her defiance against societal oppression and the raw expression of her personal rebellion. If she could instill her defiance and get his ass into the shape she would, he would be less work to deal with than he was now.  
She sent him one last message stating not to back down and truly accept her patronage, as it was a rare deal. Not waiting for an answer she got up to unlock her window and officially check downstairs for any straggling soul. As expected, there was no one in the house. Book club calls despite lonely housewives early Wednesday mornings, along with PTA meeting prep and whiny white mom mimosa hour. While the breadwinner went about his business on his stunning nine to five job. So it was really only her, not in class and waiting for her shithead teenage wasteland to come through and make her some fucking breakfast.  
Debating on what to take out and place on the counter, it would instead be a surprise breakfast day and Stan would just take whatever the fuck he planned on making out for substance. She made her way for a shower grabbing something in theme for the events to come and placed them near the sink basin and began her routine. 

There was a pure moment of nothingness, that being which Henrietta typically did reserve her showers until a full force of energy snapped her out of place and back into the moment. Naked, wet and still separated by the curtain but,  
“Dude, did you fall? What the fuck is up?”  
“Are you in the fucking bathroom?!” She could hear his movement and it didn’t sound as if he was making any moves towards the shower.  
“Do you not hear me here? With you? In the bathroom? Come on Henny wake the fuck up.” She could lose her fucking mind right now. Is he out of his?!  
“Get the fuck out you dumbshit!”  
“What-”  
“I’m naked! In the shower!” Holy hell is this kid still high?!  
“Dude, yeah, but the shower curtain-”  
“Fucksake! Leave you-, are you this fucking stupid?!” She’s completely beside herself right now. She debates on grabbing the shampoo bottle and chucking it at his empty hollow skull until the door could be heard making a soft click and footsteps follow softly furthering in sound.  
Assuming this would be the best time to leave, she turns off her shower and finishes up her routine. The smell of breakfast carried throughout the house, vague traces of meat maybe? Who cares?  
Before she attempted the stairs she heard something land hard from her bedroom and didn’t attempt to stop her eyes from rolling. He was browsing through her shit of course, no sense of personal space or boundaries which always made this friendship… endearing, so to speak.  
From her doorway it wasn’t hard to spot Stan, he was the brightest thing in her room. Which isn’t to say much with all the dull neutral colors he sported for regular wear. To see what he had actually found was tricky from his angle. His back was facing her and whatever he dropped definitely made the ground which caused him to hunch and cover quite well with his wide stocky body. So instead she made her way in and slammed the door shut, watching the noise startle him enough to further knock things off the shelf mounted nearby his head.  
“Invasive and destructive, what a fucking delight.” Then dreadful pause.  
He well might’ve been speaking, he also might have not been saying anything at all. There was movement made and a noticeable attempt to cover up the box behind him was obvious.  
“There’s a set of brand new ben wa balls in there if you’re feeling spontaneous.” She couldn’t hide her smirk if she tried.  
“You think I’m that kind of gay?” Sounding like a genuine question. He reached into the box then continued, “Like, big fat pink dildo gay?”  
Lo and behold, he held the item described.  
“You can’t shame me Marsh.”  
“But I can embarrass you in the shower? The fuck is that?”  
She grabbed her toy from his hand and began to pack the box back neatly away. “Shower times, are my times.” She struggled some reaching the higher shelf, which gave Stan time to grab the box back. She sighed and continued, “Shower times aren’t for maybe gay fuckboys entering in their curious energy into my shit.”  
“I’m not may gay, I’m pansexual asshole.” She tried swiping the box back but was swiftly dodged and left in front of her closet as he made moves towards her bed. “Told my mom I was bi though, like something easier maybe? For her to just, understand.”  
“What the fuck does that mean?” She knew what it meant. Parents were quite simply the worse at ever understanding what the fuck was ever going on. That fucking Betty Crocker of a bitch still swears her honest life is a phase.  
“Like, I just told her I was bi because it’s easier. Literally, being bi is well known and acceptable. Being pan gets stupid questions about fucking pots and shit.”  
“Okay, but Sharon isn’t fucking stupid” he was probably looking for the ben wa balls. Little fucking queer.  
“Yeah but, it’s a lot already. Telling her about Kyle and trying to figure myself and shit. And like, my fucking shithead dad. It’s just, a lot.” He gave up and set the box down.  
There’s silence and he stares at the small knick-knacks and deeply into her scrying mirror before snapping his attention back to her. She might play with that later now that she recalls it being there. Something yet to be dabbled with, but necessary to hold. Her eyes land back to his and the pained confusion is so intense she honestly wants to slap it right off of him.  
“Your Stanely Marsh and you’re pansexual. Tell her dad to eat a bag of dicks.”  
“I came out to my mom.”  
“Yeah but you rehearsed it like you came out to your dad. Don’t dumb shit down for anyone, just say it how the words were meant to be.” her pouch suddenly calls to her from under her pillow. “Your mom isn’t a fucking retard like the rest of this goddamn tragedy of a town. Tell her the truth, the whole truth.”  
He looks defeated and she’s glad because that means something cracked through.  
“Hold this” he’s like a dog, needs something to play with or his small brain will get restless.  
“What’s in it?”  
“Just give me a bloody second” around the room somewhere, there’s a stone perfect for this moment, a tooth waiting to be called upon, and bone needed for release.  
Stan has always been, and she swore herself this somewhere in the mist back during eighth grade when she drank with him (for what she hasn’t told him yet to be the very first time in her life) she would always do what was necessary to protect him. Because they were what those wishy-washy mundy drones called friends. She cared for him, as much time and energy as he took up. So this better fucking gives him some type of solace if not a direction to where the fuck he needs to be doing because she won’t go to jail over some frivolous shit like killing a jew. They might actually start calling her Hitler, definitely not one of her icons.  
“Are these the ben wa balls?”  
She might just kill him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henrietta has a different mind scoop of their relationship, but lucky the love is mutual.  
> Comment shit, ask me questions, give me feedback <3


End file.
